


Waffles in Belgium

by Cryswimmer



Series: I Look Forward to It [10]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryswimmer/pseuds/Cryswimmer
Summary: Dating with a time machine can be fun...





	

Waffles in Belgium

 

She had become his solace; it was as simple as that. As he landed the TARDIS just outside her cell at Stormcage, he realized that he came here for the peace she offered. When he was with her, he didn’t have to worry about being in charge, being in control. She was controlled enough for the both of them, and she did so with wild abandon. When the emergency was over, or when the emotions were purely too much, he could come to her. Her love was constant, simple, and unrelenting. Some days he wondered if she knew him at all, even as she knew more about him than any other living being. He wished he knew her better, but some days it was enough to know that she knew him that well. This was one of those days. How had he come to rely on someone he didn't know?

 

He trusted a human with his hearts. His mind puzzled at that. So many times he had left behind companions who were too close to him. When he cared enough, he had to let them go. One of the hardest had been Sarah Jane, so many years ago. She had become as much of his world as the TARDIS herself, and she was infinitely more fragile. He had left her so that she would be safe, afraid of what would happen to her on Galifrey. He had left her so that he wouldn’t hurt her. He had left her, because losing her by choice was so much easier than losing her without a choice.

 

He had given up Rose as well. It had been willing, and his mind had been set to it. He had planned for her to be with her mother in a safe dimension, although he knew she would be lost to him. He had been ready, even when she had not been. It had been losing her moments later, when he knew it had not been their choice, which had broken his spirit for a time. Saying goodbye to her had been one of the hardest things he had ever done. Still, he had learned to live without her, even enjoying the companionship of Martha and then Donna. Giving Rose up a second time had been easier, because he had known she would be happy. He had left a part of himself with her, however small his consolation.

 

Now Amy… that had been different. Although his Amy was safe, he had left behind an Amy that was just as real. He had done it to prevent a paradox. He had done it because there had been no choice. He had done it... and he had hated himself for it. It shouldn't matter; she had never existed. Except that she had. He had seen her, had heard her, and yes... he had left her.

 

And River would understand. She had always understood what he didn’t know himself. From the first time she had seen him, she had been a part of him. He had known, even in the Library, that she would someday be everything to him. He had seen it in her spirit, and in her unshakable faith. He had seen it in her strength of will. A part of him had been longing for her since that day. The more he got to know her, the more he recognized why she must be his.

 

Now he watched her, and realized she must be exhausted. She was curled onto the cot at the back corner of her cell, sound asleep. She seemed so still, in a way that she so rarely was. She seemed… vulnerable. It wasn’t an adjective he normally associated with her. He pulled out the sonic, and willed the lock to release. Then he eased the door open – not even a squeak to betray him – and stepped through. Up close, River looked almost like a child. She was on her side, one hand beneath her face and the other curled into a fist that rested beneath her chin. Her face was relaxed, her curls tumbling every direction. Yes, she was exhausted.

 

Most nights, he picked her up and whisked her away. He did it for her – to get her out of the prison, where she didn’t belong to be – but he also did it for himself. He required little rest, and often went days without sleep. He forgot, had forgotten, that she could not do the same. She was human, and she needed rest. How long had it been since she had the opportunity?

 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, just watching her. Gradually, her features tensed, he saw little twitches here and there, and then finally her eyes opened. She stared right at him.

 

“Hello, Sweetie,” she said softly, her voice still gravelly from sleep.

 

“Good morning, Dear,” he replied with a soft smile.

 

She watched him a moment more before asking, “How long have you been here?”

 

“No idea,” he admitted.

 

She smiled at that, and then eased her legs over the side of the bed so that she could sit up. “Where are we going tonight?” she asked him.

 

“This morning,” he corrected, turning his arm over and glancing at his watch.

 

“This morning, then,” she agreed.

 

“What are you in the mood for?” he asked.

 

She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then she smiled. “Waffles,” she told him. “Maybe, Belgian Waffles?”

 

“Belgium it is,” he told her. “What time is bed check?”

 

“Usually six,” she replied.

 

“Good to know,” he told her as he led the way to the TARDIS.

 

They flew her together in relative silence and near-perfect harmony. He had to admit, at least to himself, that she had a flair for it. River didn’t waste motions or flail about as he often did. She was economical with her movements, and she always seemed to know which button was where.

 

As they landed her just outside a Brussels, he finally let the question slip from him. “I have to ask,” he told her. “I know I didn’t teach you everything you know about the TARDIS. Is this innate skill, or is there something in your past that is still in my future? I don’t need specifics, but I’m dying to know.”

 

She grinned at him, mischievous and sweet at the same time. “You taught me a lot,” River said. “But she’s taught me more. From the first time, she just… speaks to me. I can’t explain it.”

 

“I suppose you get along well enough,” he thought aloud.

 

“We certainly seem to have an accord,” she admitted.

 

“No, I mean you're... tuned to her. I've never seen anything like it. Even when I watched other Time Lords.” He shook his head, unable to articulate his confusion.

 

“I think her instruction has a lot to do with it,” she said as she flipped the last few toggles and turned her back to the console. “And some of it is just feel. If you'd slow down and pay attention, instead of fluttering about, you'd be able to fly smoothly as well.”

 

“I do not flutter,” he grumbled.

 

“You most certainly do,” she corrected. “You're here, you're there, and I know you don't need to be all over the place. You could fly more smoothly if you paid better attention.”

 

“I can attend,” he told her, affronted.

 

“Show me,” she said with a grin.

 

“Show you what?” he asked.

 

“Show me... some attention.” She took a step towards him, placed her arms loosely around his neck, and puckered.

 

He fidgeted, moved his head back, gave her a mock glare, and then just smiled. As he placed his forehead against hers, wrapping his arms around her back, he closed his eyes. “I needed this,” he said softly. “I just needed...” His voice trailed off. He couldn't say it.

 

“Me?” she asked, shifting slightly so that her cheek rubbed against his.

 

“Yes,” he admitted. “You. This. Just... this.”

 

She laid her head on his shoulder and tightened her arms. “You always know where to find me,” she quipped.

 

“I'm sorry for that,” he admitted, bringing her body closer to his as he rubbed her back. Hugs were nice. He liked hugs. But with River, holding her just felt right; it always had, even before he'd understood had the chance to get to know her.

 

“I'm not,” she assured him. “It keeps me out of trouble, and I'm not wasting away. There are reasons – good reasons – for my going to prison, so it's not much of a sacrifice.”

 

He didn't want to argue with her. “Well, at least we can get breakfast,” he said with forced cheer. “When did you decide to land us?”

 

“Nineteen fifty-eight,” she said. “They may not even have waffles yet. They aren't formally introduced until the expo, but I wanted to avoid that fuss. We're looking for Maurice Vermersch.”

 

“Thank you for the history lesson,” he told her, tongue in cheek. He loosened his hold on her and trailed his hands down her arms, taking her hands in his.

 

“Doctorate in Archeology, thank you.”

 

“Let's find you breakfast,” he suggested, and led her out the door.

 

They did find waffles, although they lacked the strawberries and sugar that they would later be famous with. He sat with her outside a small cafe and watched her pick apart the waffle with her fingers.

 

“This is amazing,” she said, tucking a little more of the waffle into her mouth. “It's no wonder they took the expo by storm.”

 

“Let's get a couple more to go,” he suggested. “We'll walk.”

 

She agreed, and they walked. Holding hands once they finished eating, they passed through the streets of Brussels. He bought her flowers from a street vendor, and she laughed as she buried her face in them. He watched her – just watched her – and his mood lifted. She had an energy that he felt he was losing. Some days he was just so tired. Today had been one of those days.

 

“You seem sad,” she said.

 

“No,” he said, not entirely truthfully. “Not exactly. I was just thinking about... everything. It's been odd traveling with a couple. I haven't really done that before. I feel like I need to give them some time alone.”

 

“Are you embarrassed?” she asked, bumping her hip against his.

 

“Not... exactly.”

 

“You say that a lot.”

 

“Well, you ask a lot,” he replied, bumping up against her.

 

She gave a laugh that was deep and... sexy. Way too sexy. He found her far too appealing some of the time. He teased that he loved a bad girl, but the truth was that he just didn't know her. He knew she was a time traveler, knew she was far too familiar with him, and knew – or at least believed – that at some nameless date in the future she would be his wife.

 

Marriage was something he had given up centuries before, after the war had taken his wife and children. Time had stolen their faces during the daylight hours, but he saw them when he slept. He heard them crying out for him, begging him to save them, even as he knew that they had died before they could possibly cry out.

 

He had been fighting in the war, trying desperately to keep the Dalek threat from reaching Galifrey. When he had returned the Daleks had already begun the bombings, and his dwelling had been destroyed, along with his entire village. There had been nothing left... not even smoldering remains. The only solace had come from knowing that the bombardment had been quick and total; they had never felt it coming. One moment they had been carrying on life as though it were a normal day, and the next moment they had been vaporized. Many of the larger cities had not been so fortunate. He had seen the running and the screaming, children chased by lasers, adults pleading for their lives. It was only his imagination that had placed this carnage at his own home, but his dreams made it so much worse.

 

“You're quiet,” River said. “What are you thinking about?”

 

“Oh... life, the universe, and everything,” he improvised.

 

“I can't see you hitchhiking your way through the galaxy,” she said with a grin.

 

“No, but I certainly stole a time machine.”

 

“You stole it?” she asked, her voice aghast. “The good Doctor?”

 

“I always planned to take it back,” he explained. “By the time I was ready, there was no place to take it back to.”

 

“That's why you're sad,” she said softly. “You're thinking about Galifrey.”

 

“How do you know I'm not thinking about the origin of Hopscotch? Fascinating game, Hopscotch. Good exercise, good fun, teaches counting skills to the young...”

 

“Some say it goes back to Ancient Rome,” River told him with a matter-of-fact lecturing tone. Every once in a while the Archaeologist slipped out. “There aren't any literary references to it until seventeenth-century England, but it's safe to assume it was around a couple of hundred years before that. No firm evidence, of course, but it's a logical assertion. As for how I know you weren't thinking about Hopscotch, I happen to know you better than that. Different look in your eyes, entirely. Now, why are you sad?”

 

“I'm not sad. I'm... contemplative.”

 

“You're sad,” she corrected. “And you can either continue arguing, or you can talk to me and get some of it out of your head. What's happened?”

 

He paused a moment before giving in. He had known all along that he would; it was why he was here. “River, have you ever had to do something – lie to someone – when you knew you were going to hurt them? You have to do it; it's the only way to keep everyone alive. But you have to live with it afterward.”

 

“Oh, yes,” she agreed. “Rule one: The Doctor lies. I have to do it, too. It's part of who we are. Traveling time gives us certain knowledge that we can't share. We have to lie, whether by omission or commission. It's part of the job description.”

 

“Why is it sometimes... harder.”

 

“Who did you lie to?” she asked, her voice softer and more gentle.

 

“Rory. Amy, too, come to that. It was a... situation. I just never expected it to...”

 

“You didn't expect the guilt?” she asked.

 

“I don't feel guilt,” he told her, believing it true. “Not about something this... small. I feel guilt about wars I couldn't stop, lives I led in the wrong direction, and people I couldn't save. I feel guilt about the big things, the things I could have changed. I don't feel guilt about necessary lives.”

 

“So, what are you feeling, if it's not guilt?”

 

He thought about that a moment, and realized she was right. “Why am I feeling guilt?” he asked her. “We fixed the situation. It never even occurred. There's nothing to feel guilty about.”

 

“And yet...”

 

He gave a long sigh. “They trust me,” he said, his voice small. “They trust me to keep them safe, and to bring them home. I have to do that. It's my responsibility. I can't always manage all the smaller details along the way.”

 

“Oh, Sweetie,” she said, her smile sad. “Of course they trust you. They love you. Granted, Rory may never say it in so many words, but you have been a part of their lives since childhood. You rescued Amy from a world of inaccuracies, and you brought her into a lifetime of adventure. You showed her how special she really is, and you allowed her to share that with her best friend. You accepted her unconditionally. Of course they trust you. What else would they do?”

 

“Others have trusted me, River. It never ends well.”

 

“I trust you,” she told him solemnly. “With my life... with everything.”

 

“I've always said you were mad,” he muttered.

 

They walked in silence for a long while. As they circled around, returning to the TARDIS, he turned to face her and took her hands. “Why do you trust me?” he asked.

 

“Spoilers,” was her reply.

 

He shook his head. “Nothing specific. Why do you trust me? Why do you...”

 

“Love you?” she asked, meeting his eyes with hers.

 

He nodded, but he didn't speak.

 

She reached up and kissed him very, very gently on the lips. “Because there is so much love in you,” she told him. “It's guarded, hidden, and carefully controlled. You love so much, so deeply, that it hurts you. You would give your life for Amy, or Rory... you would give anything just to protect them from hurt. They know this... they trust it. They love you just as much as you love them.”

 

“And you?” he asked. “Why do you trust me?”

 

Her smile was at once knowing and sad. She put her hands over his hearts, perfectly placed, and her eyes filled with tears. “Some things cannot be put into words,” she told him. “Some things simply are."


End file.
